


The untold chapitre of our history

by Cissyna



Category: Dragon Age 2
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-25
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2018-09-19 18:34:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9455222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cissyna/pseuds/Cissyna
Summary: What happens when one day the head of the Kirkwall chantry, Elthina meets an odd qunari, who catches Her Grace's eyes and interest.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there and thank you for reading. This is my very first fan fiction in english (which is not my native language), so please don't mind my grammatical errors. Anyway I hope it's understandable and at least a bit of interesting/worth reading.
> 
> About the pairing... I know, it's not a canon couple, but while I played I had this strange little idea and voilá, here is a piece of my imagination. If this offend you, I'm so sorry. I hope some of you will enjoy this, I really liked writing this part and there will be more if anyone's interested :) Feel free to leave a comment or critiques, I apprectiate everything ^^

\- Do you see, Your Grace? Traitors attacking the very core of the Chantry! They defile with every step! – Mother Petrice gestured towards a little companion with her hands. Lifeless bodies lied on the ground, only four men stood, seemingly unharmed: a dwarf with a crossbow, a tattooed elf and two humans, both equipped with staffs, but without the Circle’s uniform.

\- There is death in every corner, young mother. It is as you predicted. All to well – the Grand Cleric teared her gaze from the corpses to look at the men in front of her. They were covered in blood, yet their faces seemed calm. One of the mages – must be an apostate, but his face was familiar – stepped closer.

\- Forgive me, Your Grace. But you must know the truth about what happened here – his voice was polite and respectful as he gave a half bow towards Elthina.

\- Don’t spout your Qunari filth. This is a hand of the Divine – Petrice’s words came like spit, anger and contempt draw a grimmace on her face. Her voice died in the moment Elthina raised her hand.

\- I have ears, Mother Petrice. The Maker would have me use them. Serah Hawke, is it? – the young man nodded. As she recalled he was a descendant of the noble Amell family now holding an even greater respect that he earned during his journeys to the Deep Roads. Sadly he remained the only member of the family, as Elthina also heared, the man lost his mother not long ago.

\- Viscount Dumar’s son is dead, killed here in your name – Petrice flinched at Hawke’s words. The Grand Cleric nodded in acknowledgement.

\- I’m sure my name won’t like that. Petrice?

\- Saemus Dumar was a Qunari convert! He came here to repent and was murdered!

\- It’s a ruse, Your Grace! Saemus was killed to set people against the Qunari – Hawke darted his eyes towards Petrice. It was like a silent duel between the two of them.

\- This is no longer a matter of heathens squatting in the docks. People are leaving us to join them! – Petrice looked at Elthina, hoping help from the woman.

\- And we must pray for them like any other.

\- They deny the Maker! – the Grand Cleric’s words shocked Mother Petrice, she nearly shouted as she trembled in anger. Elthina straightened her back, gaze getting colder.

\- And you diminish Him, even as you claim His side. Andraste did not volunteer for the flame. Serah Hawke, you act on behalf of the viscount? – after an affirmative nod she continued – The young mother has erred in her judgement. A court will decide her fate. The Chantry respects the law and so must she.  
It was done. The older woman turned her back, ignoring the pleads until she heard a sharp cry of pain. When she looked back she only saw Petrice lying on the ground, her body pierced with two arrows claiming her life. From the shadows a great silhouette appeared, coming forward until the candles lit it’s face. It was a male Qunari, so big, the statue next to him seemd small and fragile. Anyone could rightfully ran away trembling, but not her. Elthina moved towards the warrior without the slightest hint of fear.

\- Why? The court was supposed to judge her, this is simple murder, no different from the one she commited – Grand Cleric Ethina felt the intense gaze of yellow eyes coming from under the helmet while stating her question.

\- It is different – the answer came shortly in a low, confident bass. The Qunari looked on the small woman in front of him. Her expression was calm and distant, but in the depts of her grey eyes pain shined.

\- How so? – Her Grace clearly wasn’t afraid of the bigger male, her gaze never averted from the other’s face, tring to read something from the expression which remained blank.

\- It was the demand of the Qun. We protect those of the Qun. We do not abandon our own, no matter if its Qunari or Viddathari.  
Of course, the Qun… The best and only answer for everything. A heavy sigh escaped her lips, for a moment sadness marked her face, before Elthina could claim her composure back.

\- I understand your demand, but Mother Petrice was a member of the Chantry and commited her sin in the name of the Maker. That means she… We had the right to judge her to find a fitting punishment – Maker knows the Grand Clerick wanted to say „she had the right” , but a little voice in her mind claimed Petrice deserved her death right here, right now. An innocent boy payed with his life for the Mother’s fanatism.

\- What would that be? Prison? Your Maker loves a killer better than her victime to leave her alive? – the calm question made Elthina to break eye-contact, looking to her left, to Serah Hawke, who stood there silent from the moment the arrows took Petrice’s life. The mage shaked his head, he wanted to remain neutral.

\- The Maker loves everyone equally. The victim for their sacrifice, the sinner to repent and find the right path again.

\- Equally? That’s why you hunt mages in the name of the Maker? – an angry voice stabbed into the conversation from a mage standing behind Hawke.

\- Anders, you’re not heping…

\- It’s not the time to discuss the case of the mages, child. Go now and please send someone for the Viscount – Elthina gestured towards the doors. This sacred place already suffered enough defiling, there was no need for another debate on a delicate question. Hawke and his company left and the Qunari archer turned his back too.

\- What will happen to you now? In the eyes of justice you commited a homicide. The law dictates…

\- In the eyes of the Qun I honored our dead by taking vengence.

\- I could call the templars or the city guards – Elthina watched, as the muscles on the male’s back tensed, but he only turned his head to look at her from the corner of his eyes.

\- What good would that do? – there was challange in the low voice which was hard not to notice. The grand Cleric closed her eyes and let her shoulders fall.

\- Nothing. There was enough bloodshed for tonight, return to yours and let this sacrifice stabilize peace. May the Maker watch over you.

***

Peace… Noble idea, but with each passing day there were less hope. Even though Petrice was dead, the opinion of the crowd turned against the Qunari. It seemed the open confrontation was inevitable.  
Elthina finished her prayer and lit a candle in front of the statue of Andraste. Whenever she left the building of the Chantry she felt like there was a storm coming. Everything looks peaceful, calm, but there was dangerous tension in the air.  
She could only walked down the stairs when her legs froze in astonishment. Right in front of the Chantry a mob assembled, forming a circle around a young templar who made a speech standing on an empty box. His gestures were fierce, words loud and angry.

\- … no more! How long can the Viscount tolerate these filthy animals amoung us? They deny the Maker, the Chanty, everything! We can no longer turn a blind eye to that threath. We must…

\- You must calm down, young man.

\- Your Grace! – the crowd went silent after Elthina’s soft and calm words. They stepped aside to let her march to the center but after few steps she stopped looking in shock what the path has revealed. Next to the templar an abused and bound Qunari kneeled, yellow eyes turning from the ground to the approaching woman.

\- My children, what have you done? – noone dared to look at her after the question, only the templar straightened his back.

\- Your Grace, we can not tolerate any longer that these… Things convert people. These are heretics and we should take revenge in the name of the Maker – he lifted his sword in the air and some cheered for his words. In the meantime Elthina reached to center of the circle, gently caressed the young man’s free hand.

\- This is not the will of the Maker. He wishes for peace and harmony, not killing and suffering. Give me your weapon and let this madness stop here – calming words or her status? Maker knows which, but it worked. The templar tried to hide a grimmace while handing over his sword to the Grand Cleric, who cut the Qunari’s bindings free.

\- Please return to your home with harmony in your souls, no more violent thoughts in your minds.  
The crowd slowly disbanded, people went minding their own business till only Elthina, the Qunari and a curious Brother remained, who was drawn closer by the detestful speech. The woman gestured the Brother to come closer then hold out her hand to the Qunari.

\- Can you stand? – she was certain that this male was the one who murdered Petrice not long ago. Those piercing, yellow eyes… There was no doubt.  
The answer was a short nod, but the first attempt to stand failed, the archer had to stabilize himself by resting one hand on the ground.

-Brother Sebastian, could you please lend me a hand? – the young Brother came closer without hesitation, smiling honestly with deep adoration in his eyes every time he looked at the woman.  
Together they managed to bring the wounded Qunari into the Chantry, right to Elthina’s private area, laying him on a spare bed.


	2. Chapter 2

\- Please take my word to Orsino asking him to send a healer from the Circle. Thank you – Sebastian turned on his heels to fulfill the Grand Cleric’s request immediately.  
Left alone she gave her shoulder a few massaging rub, before stepping in front of commode, opening some drawers. She wasn’t too old, but not young enough to lift a heavy man without consequences.

\- I don’t need a mage to heal me. It would corrupt me – the Qunari’s voice was as low as she remembered but it had a certain tiredness which was unfamiliar. The angry mob must have tortured him…

\- Rest assured, no Circle mage would currupt anyone. You are safe within these walls – from a drawer she get some disinfectant and calming balm for the wounds, as well as clean towel and few rolls of linen. The whole time she could feel an intense gaze on her back.

\- The Qun is clear: if we come in touch with uncontrolled magic we must die so we pose no danger. We keep our Saarebases under control, but do you?  
Elthina gave a silent sigh while measuring dried elfroot from a little wooden box. She always thought there was some childish simplicity in the Qun, but hearing this statement… She had to wonder if its admirable naivity or blind ignorance.

\- Without magic the recovery would take more time. Besides I can’t tell if you suffered any internal injuries – she left the room for a moment to bring a bucket of clean water. Returning she moistened one towel and stepped next to the bed lowering herself onto her knees. In any other case she would simply gave the task to one of her apprentices or a learning sister, but the fact that the patient is a Qunari made the situation delicate enough to stay and tend the wounds personally.  
For few minutes the room was filled with heavy silence. Elthina did her best not to cause pain while cleaning the cuts and bruises, silently noting the steel-like muscles under the skin. Like someone said in the past: the Qunari was breed specially to fight. This one under her hands definitely had every quality to be effective and deadly. It made a huge contrast with her thin and soft fingers.

\- Why do you help me? I’m one of the Qun and you are just a basra – the Grand Cleric quivered by the unexpected voice, she had completly lost herself in her thought about the perfect structure of the male’s body.

\- Even so in the Maker’s eyes you are just a wounded individual and I have a possibility to help. It doesn’t concern your kind or believe, I would do the same for a dalish too – she rinsed out the cloth coloring the clear water with blood, dirt and vitaar and went from the upper body to the arms. Maker, it’s not a broken bone, is it?

\- You are the only who lives by the demand of your Maker?

\- No. I can say, the big majority follows the Maker’s word – Elthina burrowed her eyebrows, not really grasping the true meaning behind such a question.

\- I always thought He only teaches you to hate everyone.

\- We are not talking about the Qun.

\- The Qun welcomes anyone. Elves, humans, dwarfs… If they hunger for purpose, they can live under the Qun with the same right and obligations.  
Elthina didn’t know how to answer. For the first time in her life her beliefs were shaken. She heard Viscount Dumar’s words: „My son! Murdered in the heart of the chantry by those who hold a sacred trust! What hope for this city, when we fail our own so completely?” After that how could anyone not question everything? But while others could afford this kind of weakness, she was the Grand Cleric who had to remain full of confidence for everyone’s sake. But indeed, what hope remains?

\- I have to believe in what I serve. We live hard times and the people need me to be strong – she didn’t know how but the words slipped from her mouth unconsiously.

\- You are a strange woman, Grand Cleric Elthina – did she hear correctly the slight amusement in his voice? She lift her head, eyes metting eyes. This was the first time she had a conversation this long with a Qunari, but it wasn’t so unpleasant she believed it would be. Tiring, challenging, but far from unpleasant.

\- I take this as a compliment. Give me your other hand, child.

\- I’m not one of your children.

\- Of course, I apologize. Old habits die hard, it seems. How can I call you?

\- They call me Arvaraad.

\- Now please close your eyes, Arvaraad – after finishing with his arms Elthina had to take care of the few bruises on the male’s head. All this time she felt his gaze following her movements and she suspected she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on her task if those eyes were fixated on her face. After a brief pause the Qunari’s eyelids closed and the Grand Cleric sat on the bed to see every wound more closely. His nose was broken, one horn chipped, cheeks cut, lips bear dry blood on them. She didn’t asked the details so far and now started to wonder if it’s for the best. Maybe the wounds on the soul would heal faster if remain undisturbed. Her fingers moved under the chin of the male, tilting his head in her direction. Her movement became more careful and slow. Even so she knew she caused pain the Qunari never flinched or gave any sight of discomfort. Only his fists were clenched tightly.

-A mage would be less painful. Are you sure, you don’t want one to tend your wounds? – she paused for a minute, placing her hand on his fist. She knew how dangerous mages can be, but she was sure Orsino knew his people and choose wise for her demand. Arvaraad’s eyes popped open from the unexpected contact.

-I am fine. I just need a little rest and can go back to my people – after his words Elthina forgot to argue as she averted her gaze. Maker help me…

-As you wish. The moment you can stand without a support you can go.

The mage who arrived hurriedly with Sebastian had to left without doing too much. She helped the Grand Cleric applying the bandages and examine the male for further damages, but without her magic she was nearly useless. Despite that Elthina thanked her with a warm smile, reassuring the mage she was a great help and sent her regards to Orsino as well.  
Thanks to the elfroot and a light sedative Arvaraad rested calmly while the woman brought a chair closer. They weren’t through the toughest part, she had to remain to see if there wasn’t any sign of infection. One more reason why magic would have been better… She let the thought pass and watched the rhythm of the rise and fall of the male’s chest.


End file.
